


Well, You Done Me In, You Bet I Felt It

by khasael



Series: Hale and Hearty [9]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Commitment, Falling Hard, Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Oral Sex, Random Turn-Ons, Smut, The Little Things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-11 22:17:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2085252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khasael/pseuds/khasael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has lost a piece of paper. His search for it leads to... well, yet more unexpected laundry. But in a <i>really good</i> way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Well, You Done Me In, You Bet I Felt It

Stiles sort of has this...habit.

Well, okay. He has a _lot_ of habits. Some of them are good, like checking his pockets before tossing his pants or hoodies into the laundry. Some are debatable—keeping a baseball bat (or four) stashed in convenient places is probably one of those (hey, they've come in handy more than once! Even if Scott and Melissa's own stash has come close to braining him more than a handful of times). Some of them are small, inconsequential things, like chewing on whatever the hell happens to be in his hands when he's concentrating—highlighters, straws, whatever, really. Other habits are—to use his doctor's term—“maladaptive.” Like the procrastinating. Stiles is sure there are a lot of others he's picked up in the last couple of years that would fall under that label, but he thinks he deserves some leeway there, given that he's coping with fighting supernatural creatures and disasters all the damn time.

But anyway, there is one habit he just can't quite shake. Maybe it's a product of his ADD, but maybe it's not.

Either way, Stiles tends to lose shit.

It's not always for good, and it's not like he can't hold on to _anything_ , but it's really kind of a problem sometimes. He hasn't lost anything _super_ important in quite a while and, while what he's currently searching for isn't technically irreplaceable, life would be a hell of a lot easier if he could _just remember where the fuck he left it_.

Stiles knows he's close to reaching official Freak Out Over Shit level when Derek pops his head into the living room, probably halfway to see what's wrong, and also what the hell Stiles is doing to his (their?) living room, because he's not exactly trying to be silent as he rifles through everything that's not nailed down. “What did you lose this time?” Derek asks after a brief moment of watching Stiles go back through every scrap of paper on the counter where his laptop is usually set up when it's not on Stiles's lap on the couch or in bed. 

Stiles whips around to glare at him, mostly out of habit. He knows it's obvious he's looking for something in particular—no one moves around this frantically if they aren't. Besides, Derek's known him for a long time, now, even though they've only been married a few weeks. He knows Stiles is prone to losing shit. Sometimes, he can even help find it, if it's something he can scout for by scent, or look for in dark places.

That's both an awesome and handy thing about having a werewolf spouse, and also so funny it still makes Stiles laugh and crack jokes about it. 

The irritated expression lasts a whole four seconds on his face before Stiles gives it up and slumps onto the counter. “My list of courses.”

Stiles can practically hear Derek's eyebrows go up. “List of courses?”

“Yeah, you know, for school.”

“I thought you were doing all that stuff online?”

Huffing a sigh, Stiles stands up again, hands already busy rifling through things—magazines, books, paper, pamphlets, ads, a couple of bills—and gives Derek what he's sure is a pretty pathetic look. “I _am_. I mean, all the registering is done online. And all the course listings are up there, too. But I had a physical, paper copy of the course offerings and degree requirements and university policies—and do you know they actually make you _pay_ for that shit now, in hard copy? They used to just send it all out for free.” 

Derek's face is a mix of things that can't quite be read. “...But if you're doing it all online, why do you need the paper copy of the catalogue?”

Stiles moans and sinks onto one of the bar stools. “Because, I am a dumbass. I was keeping a list of the things I wanted to take, section numbers and days and times and professors' names and everything, on a piece of paper, because I wanted to plot it out on a time grid, to make sure I could fit everything in. It was easier to do, by hand. And, for safe-keeping, I'd tucked it into that book, because I figured it'd be harder to lose that heavy-ass thing than a single sheet of yellow legal pad.” Apparently, he'd been wrong about that.

Something else flickers across Derek's face, and Stiles blinks, because it looks like...guilt. “Yellow legal pad?”

“Yes!” Stiles is pretty sure that look means Derek knows which paper he's talking about. He _doesn't_ know why Derek should look guilty, unless— “Oh my God, tell me you didn't throw it out, thinking it was trash.”

Derek flushes a little. “It didn't get thrown away. I, uh, think I've seen it. Hold on, I'll be right back.” 

He heads for the stairs, moving quickly, and he still looks guilty or whatever, and so Stiles follows along at his heels, wanting to know why. Is Derek going to snag it from a trash can, despite his words? Seriously, what else could make him have that face? 

They reach the bedroom at almost the same time, and Derek darts for the bed, lightning-fast, reaching for something underneath the mattress. He shoves the course catalogue into Stiles's hands, nearly crashing into him and knocking him over, because Stiles is still trying to get all up in his space and figure out what's going on. “Here. Is this it?”

Stiles flips through the pages until he gets about a third of the way in and, yes, there's the yellow slip of paper he's been looking for, folded into eighths and tucked between the pages of the offerings within the Department of English, right up against the entries for Folklore 1 and Folklore 2. “Oh, thank God. I really didn't want to have to scan through this whole damned catalogue again to find the classes that sounded good.” He's so relieved to have saved that time, it takes him a moment to process the whole scene. “Wait. Why was this in here? And hidden under the bed? I _know_ I left it with all my acceptance and registration material, near my laptop.”

Derek flushes and looks down at the ground. It always sort of amuses Stiles to see the look on Derek—that shy, embarrassed look that's so different from the stoic or cranky expressions he's always held there. “I was just looking through some of the classes the school offers.”

Stiles cocks his head. Yeah, it's been a few years since Derek's been in college, but it's not like he's ancient or anything—a lot of what's offered in the catalogue is stuff Derek's school probably taught, too. Maybe there's some more updated stuff in some of the sciences, true. “Were you thinking about doing something with that degree of yours?” Stiles asks, after a second. He's still not entirely sure what Derek might want to do with a degree in kinesiology or integrated physiology or whatever else it's called in different places, but he supposes it's kind of a smart idea to look at what recent graduates of similar programs are being taught, so he knows what his competition will be like. “I mean, since you mentioned getting a job?”

Derek still doesn't look up for a moment. “No.” There's an even longer pause, and Stiles is _just_ hitting his limit of how long he can let it go before he starts asking more questions, when Derek finally lifts his head and looks at him. “Do you remember that dinner we had with your dad?”

They've had a family dinner with Stiles's dad a few times, now, and sometimes Scott and Melissa and even Isaac have been over. But he knows the one Derek means—the first one, where his dad told them that Lydia and Melissa were taking over the bulk of the planning for the wedding ceremony their family and friends would actually be attending, which is, admittedly, more of a relief than Stiles would have initially guessed. “Yeah?” Derek had said...damn it, what had he said? Something about bettering himself while they were living in LA? Taking classes in interesting things, so he'd be able to do his own homework while Stiles was, and not distract him from school? “Wait, were you trying to pick classes to take?”

The look on Derek's face is more than a little defensive, but he forces out a “yeah.”

“Well, which ones?” Derek has never, ever been big on just offering up information, though he _is_ a hell of a lot better about it these days. Still, sometimes he takes some leading, even though it probably makes Stiles seem like a pain in the ass when he does it.

Derek mumbles something, to which Stiles just shakes his head and raises his eyebrows and waits for his expression to communicate that, no, Derek's actually going to have to talk like a regular person, for Stiles to understand. Derek's lips thin into a line for a quick second, before he seems to give up, sighing loudly. “Look through the catalogue. You'll see.”

Stiles cocks his head to the side, but starts flipping slowly through the pages, expecting to see corners turned down in some of the science sections. Instead, he sees a couple of small stars pencilled into the margins just past where his own paper was keeping place. He reads over the bolded course names once, twice, and then three times before he looks up at Derek. “These are what you wanted to sign up for?” He snorts, because they seem nothing _like_ Derek. “ _Why_?”

Still pink at the tips of his ears, Derek makes a complicated expression, largely using his eyebrows and pursed lips. “I want to be able to actually discuss those things with you. Intelligently. You love that sort of thing, and I don't know much except what you've taught me, and I'd like to have two-sided discussions with you about it.”

Stiles blinks at him. There are four courses with stars next to their names, all on the same two pages. All Film Studies courses, in fact. Film Analysis for Non-Majors. Introduction to Cinematography. Film and Fiction. And the kicker, Exploring Good and Evil Through Film.

It hits Stiles then, how very much Derek wants their marriage to work out, how hard he's trying to be someone Stiles will always want to be with, how fucking _committed_ he is to what probably seems to the rest of the world like a ridiculous, doomed relationship.

And Stiles fucking _melts_. Just, that's it, it's over, he's done, he can't. 

He can't even get _words_ to happen at first, he's so overwhelmed. He finally manages to breathe a ragged “come here,” even as he moves towards Derek, dropping the already-forgotten course catalogue and list of potential classes onto the floor. 

Derek blinks and takes a reflexive half-step backwards, still looking defensive, but Stiles gets one hand around Derek's waist, able to pull himself closer that way so that he can press up against Derek and just kiss the ever-loving shit out of him. Because he _has_ to. He can't _not_ kiss Derek right now, or he'll die.

Derek doesn't exactly fight him, once he figures out what Stiles's intent is. It makes things easier on both of them, because Stiles is putting in an effort at attaching himself to his husband that probably makes him resemble an affectionate octopus, with the way he tries to wrap himself around Derek. Once Derek gets it figured out, Stiles reins it in a bit, but he still doesn't let go. He keeps Derek close, one hand at the back of Derek's head, the other slid up his side and wrapped around his back underneath his shirt. 

He's always talking, even when he knows he should just shut up, but words just don't seem adequate right now. Stiles needs Derek to understand that he gets it, he feels the same way about them, that he's in it for the long haul, too. So he kisses Derek as deeply as he can, pours himself into it. And maybe it's something in his heartbeat, or in the way he smells, or in the way he's touching Derek, but Stiles thinks maybe Derek knows what this is all about in the moment when he can feel Derek really, truly get into what they're doing.

Stiles realizes Derek has him up off the floor, feels Derek's strong hands supporting his weight as he grips his hips, and Stiles uses the opportunity to wrap his legs around Derek's waist, noticing as he does that Derek's half-hard underneath his jeans. 

Stiles can get on board with that. Or on board _it_ , as the case may be.

Reaching one hand down as he keeps the other wrapped around Derek's neck and shoulders to help keep himself upright, Stiles slides his fingers between them, pressing up against the bulge in Derek's jeans and stroking gently. Derek lets out a noise that's barely audible, a near-silent moan, into Stiles's mouth and shivers.

Stiles knows they're newlyweds and all, but he's also pretty damned sure he's never going to get tired of knowing he's the one who gets Derek turned on. Because those noises are awesome.

Derek walks them over to the bed, somehow not even awkward about it, even when he's supporting Stiles's weight entirely and moving backwards at the same time. He doesn't even turn around to set Stiles down first, when they get there—instead, he lowers himself onto the mattress and takes Stiles with him. Stiles is totally okay with it, because he loves being the one to straddle Derek, to lean over him and keep him there, to be able to look down on him and see the faces he makes while Stiles runs his hands all over his body. Yeah, the possessive, dominant behavior thing of Derek's totally does it for him, but Stiles will absolutely cop to getting turned on when it's his turn to have a little time in that role. It's a nice feeling of power, but, to Stiles, it's also a little bit about trust. 

The need to kiss Derek just a minute ago had been a demanding, immediate, forceful thing, but this...this is something Stiles can take his time with. He runs his hands up and down Derek's sides, his abs, letting the tips of his fingers stray high enough to brush over Derek's nipples, loving the way Derek's breath stutters the first time they do. When Stiles finally climbs off Derek's lap, he leans down for another kiss, murmuring “pants off,” as they separate.

The lust-dazed look Derek gives him in response, the accompanying nod of agreement, makes Stiles grin. And it's nice to have Derek's assistance in removing them, because, while Stiles has found he _can_ manhandle Derek around a bit, getting someone's jeans off while they're lying down looks a lot easier on TV and in the movies than it is in real life. 

Derek's hard and leaking just a bit of precome when Stiles finally slides his way down the bed, resting on his stomach between Derek's legs, and Stiles totally smirks a little when he gets Derek's dick in his hand, strokes once, and exhales a long, hot breath over the head, because Derek lets out this low, awesome groan that's really bordering on a growl. Stiles takes a couple of moments to position himself better, one arm holding him up even as his legs dangle off the end of the bed, before he wraps his lips around Derek's dick and takes him slowly into his mouth.

Married for almost a month, and Stiles still catches Derek distractedly looking at his mouth now and then. Stiles is not above playing up that particular weakness of his husband's. He's getting pretty damned good at blowjobs, too, having to adjust his very few previous experiences to now giving them to someone who's uncut. 

And it's totally worth it to hear the way Derek growls his name as his whole body goes tense for a moment, even if it is a little hard to give a blowjob while grinning or smirking. 

Stiles uses his hand to make up for the bit of Derek's dick he can't quite get down his throat, using the other to play with Derek's balls and stroking his perineum before working his finger lower, teasing at Derek's hole and pressing just a little against it until Derek's breathing goes ragged. Derek's hands are fisted in the sheets, fabric making occasional short ripping sounds as Stiles manages to sort of swirl his tongue around the head of Derek's dick, but he does manage to mutter a warning before he comes with a drawn-out moan, and Stiles would totally raise his arms in victory, except he's too busy trying to swallow everything down, because his face is messy and sticky with spit as it is, and they are doing an awful lot of laundry that consists of bedding, these days.

Derek drags him up to his height in the bed after a few moments just lying there, panting, and makes a vaguely irritated sound when he seems to realize that Stiles isn't just still wearing his shirt, but also his sweatpants. He tugs on the waistband until Stiles takes pity on him and just slides out of said pants and underwear, because he knows Derek sort of has a thing about this, about their sex lives being equal in terms of orgasms, or at least general pleasure and, not to be too blunt about it, getting Derek off is probably the biggest turn-on Stiles has ever really come across, and he's more than a little hard after giving his husband a successful blowjob.

Stiles lets Derek pull him in for a long, hot kiss, even though he'd thought until last month that kissing someone immediately after blowjobs would be a no-go (and it's still just a little weird, for him—but not bad, definitely not bad) but he knows Derek is totally into it, and maybe that's a wolf thing or maybe it's not, but Stiles honestly can't bring himself to ask Scott or Isaac and certainly not Peter to check. 

Either way, the kiss is enough to make Stiles's toes curl, and when Derek manages to locate the lube, get some into his hand, and wrap it around Stiles's dick at the same time he grazes his teeth over the hinge of Stiles's jaw, licking and sucking along the length of Stiles's neck, Stiles realizes he's a damned good deal closer to coming than he'd thought. It's like Derek's touch is electric, lighting all the right nerves up with each caress, each stroke, each nip of sharp teeth against Stiles's skin. 

Derek swallows down Stiles's moan as he comes, vaguely aware that he's coming all over Derek's hand and stomach and also probably his own T-shirt, and that means yet another load of laundry, and Stiles can't help but clutch sort of desperately at Derek's back, wanting to be closer even if it means they'll be uncomfortably sticky thirty seconds from now. But Derek doesn't complain, just tilts his head so their foreheads are pressed together after Stiles stops gasping, and Stiles ignores the thoughts of messy bedding and needing a towel for just a minute, just to be able to enjoy a few moments of afterglow with his husband's arm wrapped around him, shoved under the pillow and cradling Stiles from underneath and behind. 

After a moment of drifting, Stiles opens his eyes to see Derek looking at him, something like a smirk resting on his face. “What?” he manages to mumble, nosing at Derek's collarbone. “Why're you so amused?”

Derek snorts softly. “Let's just say I had no idea the prospect of having long talks on film theory and pop culture would go beyond something you'd enjoy and into 'things that would get you off' territory.”

Stiles laughs a little, unable to help it, and nips gently at Derek's shoulder. “It wasn't exactly that, you know. It was...more that I realized just how much I—how much you were willing—”

Derek kisses him again to shut him up, because he's weird with words and stuff that way, like he's always worried about jinxing things by saying them out loud, but it's a soft kiss, tender and fond. “Yeah,” he whispers, thumb rubbing softly at a spot on Stiles's lower back. “I think I know.”

Stiles grins, because, yeah, he's pretty sure Derek does know, knows what it means to Stiles to have someone willing to not just put up with all of his lectures and ADD-fueled diatribes on things he's interested in, but who actually seeks out ways to engage him in them, doesn't make him feel shitty or awkward for that sort of thing. He sighs and wiggles closer, resolutely ignoring the drive to get cleaned up, for at least another minute or two. “Good.”

**Author's Note:**

> The original plan for this one included a much different feel. The next installment more or less switched tones with this one as I was trying to flesh out some of the main details in my head, so be forewarned a bit, I guess (but no need to worry, in any case).


End file.
